


strange love

by drowsycyborg (orphan_account)



Category: Borderlands
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Cliche Heaven, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/drowsycyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Rhys and Fiona kiss, and the one time they mean it.</p><p><b>Update:</b> translation in Russian available <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/3724719">here</a>!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> why am i writing 3 fics at the same time???  
> im not sure. u ask me
> 
> if you want to talk about these blessed losers, you can find my [tumblr](http://tloakss.tumblr.com/) here!!

**I.**

Fiona’s not drunk, really, just… okay, yeah, she’s drunk. It’s been a long - well, it’s been a long time since she’s drunk alcohol at all, and August had been offering free shots at the Purple Skag. What was she meant to say?

She sighs, and runs a hand over her eyes as the pavement lurches under her feet. She stumbles to her left; collides with another upright body.

That other body is Rhys.

Rhys is definitely drunk, if his stumbling and giggling is anything to go by. He’s got her hand with his cybernetic one, grip careful and sustained. The metal is warm in her palm. “We should- we should get some food,” he says, determination laced in his tone. “I want spring rolls.”

They had been kicked out after several hours of drinking. It turns out that Rhys isn’t as much of a lightweight as she imagined. Maybe all those cybernetics had something to do with it.

“Rhys,” Fiona responds, “that is an excellent idea.” She is so up for spring rolls. Or down for them. Or any direction, really, because _spring rolls_.

“Wait,” Rhys says, and stops in the middle of the street. Fiona stumbles, but his grip on her hand doesn’t loosen. “Where can we find spring rolls?”

Fiona thinks it over for a few moments. Spring rolls, now she thinks about it, are surprisingly hard to get hold of. Especially since they’re less than five minutes away from the caravan, and there are no takeaways anywhere nearby. “I don’t think we can get spring rolls,” Fiona says slowly, and then pauses to consider her words. “Yeah. No spring rolls here. We could ask Sasha, though?”

Apparently that’s okay, because Rhys begins to walk again. His hand is still clutching hers. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as his face gets closer and closer, until the cold tip of his nose and warm lips are pressed against her cheek. Then he moves away again.

She’s not sure what that was, but it was surprisingly sweet. For a soulless corporate scumbag. Whatever.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

“Listen,” Fiona hisses, and nods her head in the direction of the vault hunter. “We have our way into a vault - we can’t let them get hold of it! If they work out who we are, we’re screwed!”

Rhys freezes where he’s standing. His ECHO eye lights up in a brilliant, bright gold, and then just as quickly deactivates. “Right,” he agrees, “what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona responds. She’s furious, and she’s not going to hide it. “This is your plan, not mine!”

Rhys rolls his eyes to the heavens for a short moment, and then leans in close. “I,” he begins, “am so, so sorry.”

It’s with that ominous statement that he grabs the back of her neck and smashes their faces together.

It’s less a kiss and more a press of mouths; exchanging breath into each other's lungs for several long moments. And then Fiona adjusts, and realises what’s happening, and begins to flinch away-

“They’re still there,” Rhys mutters against her mouth, hand on the back of her neck keeping her in place. His lips, she notes, are surprisingly soft. “Do you want to get caught out?”

No, she doesn’t want to get caught out - what a _stupid question_ \- but she’s not Sasha, either, all smooth and good at fake-kissing. Instead, she sighs frustratedly into his mouth and brings her arms up to pretend to kiss him back.

Neither of their eyes close. They stand there, as she runs a hand in the back of his hair, and breathe each other’s air. HIs face is too close, and still neither of them are closing their eyes, and she’s a little glad as his eyes do look pretty from this distance. She blinks in surprise at her own thought. He winks back.

The crowd parts around them like a rock in a river, as they begin breathe in tandem. Rhys’ ECHO eye lights up to scan their surroundings and to make sure the vault hunter chasing them has disappeared, and that’s when he releases her, stepping away and back until they’re not close, like, at all.

She can feel his breath in her chest. It’s weighing heavy in her lungs. She huffs it out.

“Right,” she says, and they run.


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

They’re fighting bandits.

“When _aren’t_ we fighting bandits?” Rhys yells from across the room. The radio is on in the background - some cheery tune is playing, and it’s irritating Fiona. It’s a testament to Rhys’ practice at throwing imaginary knives because he throws a real one.

It lands directly in the radio, breaking the metal casing. There is the crackle of electricity arcing across the room, and then a bandit hits the floor with an audible crunch.

“Oh my,” another bandit mouths, apparently rather impressed.

“Thanks,” Rhys yells, grinning, and then leaps spectacularly onto the back of a bruiser only to defeat him via the stun baton.

“That’s cheating,” Sasha sings from the corner, using her SMG to bring down anyone who gets too close.

Rhys visibly rolls his eyes, and then throws another knife. It whistles as it flies, and then hits the bandit in the skull. Blood flies across the room.

To his credit, Rhys has gotten pretty good at throwing knives, especially since that one time with the finger guns and stuff. Fiona highly doubts it’s true (an epic battle with finger guns? Really?) but it’s a testament to how he’s improved. It’s a testament to how they’ve all improved.

When the final bandit is down - taken out by a combination of stun baton and SMG and time - the three of them straighten up and dust off their clothes. Rhys has a nasty cut on his lip that he’s pressing fingers against, and Sasha is tying bandages around her already sprained wrist, but apart from that they all seem fine.

“How did we even get into this mess in the first place?” Fiona asks, pressing a hand against her hip and leaning into the support it brings. She’s panting a little - they’re all panting a little - and she looks over the pile of bodies.

Sasha’s done with her bandage and is already picking her way through them by the time Fiona looks back up. She grabs a couple of guns, then throws a shield at Rhys, who catches it. “Thanks,” he says, poking at the big green button in order to activate the thing.

“Ooh,” Fiona says, as one of the bodies begins to twitch, “look! Postmortem spasms!”

All three of them come over as the body continues to twitch. It’s flopping around helplessly, arms and legs twitching violently. It can’t be alive - there’s a knife embedded in its skull - but it continues to spasm.

“That’s… kind of intense,” Sasha says, looking equally fascinated as she does disgusted.

Rhys bends down. He looks vaguely nauseous, but with determination he puts his hand on the handle of the knife. And tugs.

The knife comes out with a sick sounding squelch, and Fiona flinches back as blood leaks out of the wound. “That,” she says, “is grim.”

No-one appears to disagree with her. Rhys’ eyes are full of regret, but he wipes the knife on the bandit’s own shirt and then straightens up, tucking it back into its pouch.

And, of course, that’s when things go horribly wrong.

The body begins spasming more violently now the large sharp pointing thing has been removed from its head. Fiona stumbles back. Under her feet, there’s blood on the floor.

She slips on the blood, and, almost as though in slow motion, begins to fall. “Oh, shit,” she curses. She slides backwards, and then her arms pinwheel, and then she hits the floor. Her head clonks against the floor and tears come to her eyes. The world, she notes, is slightly out of focus.

Things cannot get any worse, universe, she thinks. There is blood on her shoes and likely on her clothes, and the blood is not her own, and she has fallen onto the floor and hurt her head. (Fiona, naturally, is proven wrong.)

Rhys had attempted to grab her arm, but that failed, and of course he had slipped into the bloody pool as well. She watches fuzzily as he begins to fall but somehow, miraculously, manages to right himself.

That’s when the door opens.

The door hits directly into the middle of Rhys’ spine. He groans as if he is dying, and then topples forwards. Thanks to a minor miracle, his hands land either side of her shoulders and them his arms manage to support the rest of his body.

Then Sasha slips too. Lands on top of them both.

Rhys, of course, is not strong enough to support the weight of himself plus another human being. He slips, crashing his mouth directly into her mouth.

“Rhys!” she shouts, upset and both frustrated. She can taste blood in her mouth.

Rhys isn’t doing much better - he’s got a hand clutched to his lips, and blood is seeping through his fingers. He groans as though he’s dying. “Why does this always happen?”

Sasha’s already on her feet. She stares down at the two of them. “Did you just… kiss?”

“No,” Fiona responds hotly, and pushes Rhys off and into the pile of bodies.

“It technically counts as a kiss,” Sasha adds helpfully. “I mean, it wasn’t very romantic, but there was definitely lip-on-lip action-”

“Sasha,” says Fiona, “I love you, please be quiet.”

Sasha falls silent. Rhys lies there and doesn’t move.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

If Fiona’s honest - and she always tries to be honest with herself - all that Mercenary Day crap is just so not her bag.

Like, at all.

She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like celebrating it, and she doesn’t like the gift-exchanging bit of it, and she just. Does not like it.

In complete contrast, and Fiona has the sneaking suspicion it’s primarily to piss her off, Sasha loves Mercenary Day. She’s the one hanging pieces of mistletoe around their caravan, and singing those awful songs, and buying gifts six months before the event is even due to begin. When Fiona questions her about it, Sasha just gives her a pitying look. “You’re a Mercenary Day downer, aren’t you?” she says with fondness, and continues wrapping tinsel across every surface that can be tinsel-ified.

Fiona sighs, but doesn’t complain. It’s a yearly event, and if Sasha finds pleasure in it, then she’s not gonna say anything. She’s good like that.

What she doesn’t expect is for Sasha to invite Rhys and Vaughn and August and Athena and Janey over.

“What do you mean, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?!” Fiona’s voice is high and full of panic. “It’s a big deal - the place looks like a mess-” of tinsel, she almost finishes, but manages to cut herself off in time to not lose what little dignity she has left.

Of course, that’s when there is a knock at the door. “Fiona,” Sasha says, and her tone is teasing, “I think you better answer the door.”

Fiona’s panic rises slightly, and she hurries over, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. She opens the door, a wide smile plastered across her face. “Hello,” she greets.

Rhys is stood there first. He waves a hand in greeting and offers her an awkward smile. “Hey, Fi,” he says.

Her heart is pounding in her chest for some unknown reason, and she swallows. Behind him stands the rest of those invited. They’re all smiling and talking and even August looks happy, which is unusual. “Uh,” she says, “come in?”

“Thanks,” Rhys says, and is about to step through the doorway-

“Ah-ha!” Sasha exclaims, and her grin is as wide as it can get. “Waaait.” She points upwards, and Fiona looks up.

Mistletoe.

Fiona actually hisses. Rhys steps back, hands raised to defend himself in case of an attack. “What’s the matter?” he asks slowly.

“Mistletoe,” Fiona says miserably. (In the corner, Sasha is laughing.) “Listen. You.” She points at Rhys. “Get over here, and let me get this over and done with.”

“Nu-uh,” Rhys says with a sharp shake of his head. “I am soooo not doing that.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Fiona declares. She grabs him by the lapel and drags him forwards. “Stop - stop squirming!”

Sasha’s laughter is louder now, and even August looks somewhat amused as Fiona drags his face in closer. Finally, after what seems like a year long struggle, she manages it - a kiss, directly on his cheek. Then, abruptly, she lets go.

Rhys seems - well, very unRhyslike. He rubs his kissed cheek with his hand. He actually looks, Fiona notes, rather pink. (She chooses to ignore the pounding of her own heart).

“Okay,” she says, and clears her throat. “Sasha, you can kiss everyone else.”

Sasha’s laughter abruptly stops, and Fiona thinks _bingo_.

The evening turns out quite fun, if you ignore how cramped the tiny box caravan is, and it ends up with Sasha and Vaughn waltzing across the room, only slightly drunk. Fiona stands to the side of the room, smiling vaguely and thinking about what would have happened if these mad people hadn’t entered her life.

“Hey,” Rhys says, and she turns to look up at him. He’s always taller than she remembers.

“Hey yourself,” she responds. There’s something soft curled up in her chest and she lets it out with a smile. Rhys smiles back.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rhys says with feeling, and if that doesn’t sum up the situation at hand then nothing will.

“I think,” Fiona gasps, “you’re being far too calm for what this actually calls for-”

Rhys huffs. “Shut up,” he groans, leaning in closer. His eyes are darting, panicked. “I need to push down and you’re - you’re not helping.”

“Of course I’m not helping.” She would roll her eyes if the pain wasn’t so overwhelming. It’s a struggle just to speak. “I’m the one _bleeding out_.”

Rhys just puts more pressure on the wound. She can vaguely feel it under all the layers of excruciating pain. “Shut up,” he repeats, with force. “I think between us we can scrape enough for a New-U station-”

“Rhys,” Fiona says gently, her words a whisper, “I’m probably not going to make this one.” She’s come to terms with it. She knew this day would come eventually, and at least she’s going out with tonnes of loot and a friend beside her.

“Don’t say that,” Rhys hisses, anger lighting up his gaze and making him seem, for the first time Fiona’s known him, dangerous. “New U stations only take 7 percent of what you have anyway.”

“And the closest one is miles away.” Fiona sighs and looks up at the sky. It’s dark. It’s quiet. This, she knows, would be a good place to just stop. “The stars are so pretty. I never learnt any constellations - no time, not between being a con artist and a vault hunter.” She smiles wistfully; looks away from the void to see his face. “Rhys. You’re gonna be okay.”

Rhys’ mouth is trembling. His eyes, she notes distantly, are full of tears. It all seems so far away now, the pain and the suffering and the anger. Soon she’ll be going up, up, up.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Rhys says quietly. He leans down; brushes his lips against her forehead. “It’s you.”

She smiles softly. “I’ll be fine, too,” she promises. It’s a promise she knows she can’t keep. “But for the moment… let me sleep.” Her gaze turns up. “I wonder what the stars are called,” she slurs out. Her eyelids are so heavy; she just wants to sleep.

Her eyes flutter closed. The last thing she’ll see - the sky and Rhys. It’s not a bad way to go.

There is silence, now, broken only by Rhys hitched sobs and Fiona’s laboured breathing. “Fiona,” he murmurs, and she can’t find it within her to respond.

From somewhere very far away, there is the sound of footsteps. “Fiona,” Rhys says, and there’s something else in his voice - not panic, but relief. It’s all so far away now. She has no concerns. “I think you’re gonna be _fine_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**+I.**

“What do you mean, ‘I’ve never been romantically kissed’?” Rhys eyebrows are impossibly high on his stupid, too large forehead. “Are you - are you telling me you’ve never been romantically kissed?”

Fiona actually wants to curl up into a ball and hide. Or electrocute him with her gun. She hasn’t decided which is the prevailing thought. “Yeah,” she grouses out, shooting him such a dirty look that most people would be cowering away.

He doesn’t. Instead, his expression becomes one of shock. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” She doesn’t want to have to defend herself. It’s obvious - between herself and Sasha, there was a team spirit of sorts. Sasha was the one who would flirt and smile, and Fiona was the one who could make up bullshit any second of any day. It worked. And if Fiona had never been kissed in the meantime - well, who really cared? She didn’t.

Rhys’ look of surprise has already faded away. Instead, he purses his lips and folds his arms. “I’m surprised,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow suspiciously. When Rhys says shit like that, it usually means nothing good. “Why are you surprised?”

He clearly isn’t expecting that question, because the arms unfold and he attempts to lean against the wall as casually as possible. Fiona isn’t buying it. “I mean-”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that someone as nice as you-”

“-I’m nice all of a sudden? Where was that when I, y’know, saved your life more than a couple of times?”

“-someone as pretty as you-” Rhys ploughs on, voice loud. He’s definitely not meeting her eyes.

“Pretty?” Fiona’s the one who crosses her arms this time.

“-and someone as overall awesome as you hasn’t been kissed yet.” Rhys is apparently done, if the pink staining his cheeks is anything to go off.

“‘Overall awesome’,” Fiona quotes, feeling the words stick in her throat. She was teasing him before, but he’s… he’s not meeting her gaze, which means he meant it. Every word. “Huh,” she says, the revelation shocking her.

“So,” Rhys says, and if the pink on his cheeks is somewhat endearing then Fiona is never going to mention it, “you almost died out there, and I thought I should tell you. That overall, you are awesome.”

“Thanks,” Fiona says with a laugh, and it’s not pretend or fake. It’s real as anything. “You’re alright.” She nudges him with her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Rhys echoes, a smile lingering on his face. His eyes are looking at her all warm, and there’s still the remainder of that pink on his cheeks, and Fiona’s been feeling it a long time, but this time she thinks fuck it, and grabs him by the lapels and drags him down to her level.

“Teach me,” she says.

Rhys looks bewildered. “Teach you what?” he says. His hands come up to rest over her wrists.

Fiona can feel the flush rising up her neck, but she’s not about to back out now. “How to kiss.”

Rhys mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. He’s blushing so hard he’s gone from pink to red. “What?” he eventually says, sounding so genuinely confused that she can’t help but take pity on him.

“Rhys,” she says slowly, “teach me how to kiss.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “I mean - I wanna. Share this. With you.”

“Oh,” Rhys says, sudden understanding making his expression clear. He smiles, and it’s like the sun. “Um. Okay.” His hands come away from her wrists. One cups her face; the other, very gently, comes to rest on her waist. He tugs her closer, and she relents, shuffling those few inches so she can feel his breath on her face. Her hands haven’t let go of his jacket.

He’s so tall, and warm. She closes her eyes; tilts her head up with a smile. Their noses bump, and her eyes flicker open.

“Um,” Rhys says. “Sorry.”

Surprisingly, it’s the least awkward thing about the entire situation. “It’s okay,” she says with a laugh. His fingers twitch on her waist, and a shy smile crosses his face.

She closes her eyes again and leans up onto her tiptoes just slightly. Then they’re kissing.

It’s warm lips against hers for several long heartbeats, and then she sighs through her nose. There’s no tongue - there’s nothing inherently sexual about the situation - but her heart is pounding. Her stomach is full of butterflies. She’s flushed pink, and it’s not from embarrassment.

She relents and lets go of his lapel, and that’s when the kiss ends. His hands, she notes, is still on her waist. The other drops from her face and clenches at his side. “So,” she says lightly, and clears her throat just slightly. “Um. Want to practice more?”

“Of course,” Rhys responds, and his hand comes to rest over her own. He’s smiling so wide that she can’t help but imitate him. “Perhaps more than once?”

“Many, many times,” Fiona agrees, and brings him down to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand we're done! this has been so so fun to write; thank you all so much for kudosing, etc.
> 
> please feel free to tell me what you think. i love to talk to you all!!
> 
> i didnt want anything 'sexy' for the final kiss. i felt it was gonna be too soon too fast. rhys and fiona are both cautious people, and shoving them into a situation where they're snogging would be slightly awkward.
> 
> again, thank you!! i hope the rest of your day is wonderful, wherever you are <3


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